The Telephone Line

By Jim Hagarty

An old friend called me up just tonight.
We talked for a very long time.
Nothing we spoke about mattered that much
But thank God for the telephone line.

Cause I’d been moping around all day
And felt worse with each passing hour.
But then the phone rang and we chatted away
And I was touched by a higher power.

There is no force in this world quite as strong
As the bond between two old best friends.
And it doesn’t take but a phone call or two
To make sure that that bond never ends.

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.